


When I Am Buried At Least I Was Married

by Moments_of_Clarity



Series: Today and Yesterday [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Brienne has issues that won't be solved overnight with the power of love, Brienne is the best mother-in-law, F/M, Jaime has a lot to say and Brienne has a lot to contemplate, Jaime has no chill, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Canon, Weddings, angst followed by melodrama with a side order of fluff, but it's a start, post-adwd, slight miscommunication leading to actual conversation, the author needs to sleep, the fluff is here, the moment this has all been leading up to, you may have forehead touches as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22331761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moments_of_Clarity/pseuds/Moments_of_Clarity
Summary: The night before his wedding, Galladon has a much needed conversation with his mother.The day before her wedding, Brienne hadn't known that's what it was.
Relationships: Brienne of Tarth & Galladon of Tarth (Original Character), Brienne of Tarth & Original Female Character, Galladon of Tarth (Original Character)/Original Female Character, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Today and Yesterday [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537720
Comments: 30
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a little different in that there are two chapters. Chapter two is almost done and should be up within a week, if not sooner. Title comes from Marry Me by Emelie Autumn.

Her son is twenty-four years old and getting married tomorrow. Sometimes she feels like the years have slipped by in the blink of an eye. Other times it's as though every last moment of her life is pressing down on her. And sometimes, like this evening, she can almost pretend no time has passed at all. She is surrounded by the white marble of Evenfall Hall but when she closes her eyes, she sees the dark stone walls of Winterfell. Instead of the sea, she can smell smoke and the strange non-scent of snow. The bed she is confined to takes up most of the space in their small room and next to the bed, close enough she can reach out and touch it, is the crib where the baby sleeps. Jaime is standing over the crib, looking down at their son. She commits the look in his eyes to her deepest memory, knowing one day she’ll have to tell Galladon about that combination of wonder, fear, pride, grief, and love because he won’t be able to remember it for himself. 

The memory is abruptly broken by a solid knock on her door. Galladon is on the other side; a man grown and soon to be a husband. Opening the door wide, she invites him in. “I didn't expect to see you tonight. I thought you would be doing–well, whatever it is men do the night before their wedding.” 

Galladon stands in front of the fireplace, currently unlit. “You’re not cold?” he asks. It’s a warm summer night and the sea breeze is mild. There’s no need for a fire but Brienne knows her son, occasionally better than he knows himself. She lets him take the time he needs to prepare himself for whatever it is he’s come to say. 

“A little,” she lies, and watches him silently build her a fire. Once the kindling has caught, she joins him, enjoying the warmth even if it is unnecessary. She hasn’t taken being properly warm for granted in over twenty years. They both stare into the flames for several silent minutes. 

“What did you do the night before your own wedding?” Galladon eventually asks. 

Brienne frowns. She much prefers to think about the ceremony itself, rather than the hours preceding it. “I know I've told you about the trial.” Brienne has never kept secrets from Galladon. As soon as he was old enough to ask the inevitable questions, she gave him honest answers. Some things she waited to tell him until he was older but there is very little Galladon doesn’t know about now; Aerys and the wildfire, the siblings he never met, Lady Stoneheart. He has long come to terms with the best and the worst of who his parents are. 

“You have, but I’m curious now. Mel is with her parents and brothers. I’m here with you. What did you do in our position?” 

Brienne sighs. “Well it's not as though I knew I would be married the next day or I might have done something… celebratory, I suppose. Instead I cried myself to sleep.” Brienne hopes he wasn’t expecting a light-hearted answer. Galladon knows his parents married for love but the circumstances in which they met, fell in love, and married were all less than ideal. 

Galladon reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing tightly. “I thought it was so romantic when I was younger,” he confesses, “you and Father falling in love despite all the obstacles.” He grins at her, a little sheepishly. “I used to want that, a love story worthy of songs.” 

“I’ve heard all those songs.” Brienne scoffs. “My favourite is the one where I died during the Long Night. Very factual.” 

Galladon gives a small laugh. “I remember that one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you roll your eyes quite that hard.” 

“I’m glad your path to love was unhindered,” she admits, giving their joined hands a squeeze. “I don’t regret the choices I made, not when they gave me you. But I never wanted you to know how difficult it can be, to love someone that isn’t the easy choice.” 

Another long pause and then he haltingly asks, “Would he be proud of me?” 

Brienne doesn't hesitate to answer. “He _is_ proud of you.” 

“You can't know th—” 

“I do know. I know your father was proud of you when I carried you and you would kick for him if he asked nicely. I know he was proud of you when you were a newborn babe who would settle when he sang bawdy songs. And I know he is proud of the kind and honourable man you've become. Trust me.” She embraces her son, and Galladon holds on to her tightly. She can feel his faint trembling. 

Brienne’s thoughts turn to the letter that was entrusted to her so many years ago. She doesn’t think it will be too long until she can finally pass it on the intended recipient, possibly within the next year. Until then she will do what she has done for the past twenty-four years and tell her son the truth; that his father is an honourable man who keeps his vows and will always love them, despite time and distance. 

****** 

_Three days ago, a scout had arrived and announced that an army at least 80,000 strong and riding under the Lannister banner was approaching Winterfell. Two days after that, Jaime and several of the Westerland lords had approached the gates of Winterfell and requested a parlay. After much argument, Jaime and his men had been led to the Great Hall; Lady Sansa had been invited but told Brienne she was to be excluded._

_“I’m sorry,” the lady told her, “but the others… well, they think this should be decided by the North alone.”_

_“Is Daenerys Targaryen of the North now?” Brienne countered._

_“The queen has her own grievances against the Kingslayer.”_

_Before Sansa had left to weigh in on the decision of whether Jaime lived or died, Brienne had done the only thing she could do to ensure her own voice would be heard, at least in some small way. “Lady Sansa, you asked me once why I trusted a Lannister and I told you the truth.” Brienne only felt slightly guilty about the small lie. She’d been honest with Sansa but for two things she’d kept to herself. The first was the truth about why Jaime had killed Aerys. The second was all that had happened when she and Jaime had parted ways at the Quiet Isle. “Will you tell them? That if Jaime hadn’t saved me, then I wouldn’t have been alive to save you.”_

_The lady did not seem pleased to have to speak well of any Lannister but she agreed and Brienne was satisfied._

_The negotiations lasted for several hours but eventually it was over. To her dismay, the Westerland party rode back to their camp without Brienne ever having caught so much as a glimpse of Jaime. She suspected it had been by design, but was unsure on whose end._

_Sansa did not take long after their departure to come to find her. “It's over. The armies that the Kingslayer bought will fight with us.”_

_“And after?” Brienne asked, knowing it wouldn’t be that simple._

_Sansa looked so very tired but even so her posture was perfectly straight and her voice direct. “Assuming any of us survive the war to come–the North remembers. If any peace is to be had in the future, this is how we achieve it.”_

_“And what is_ this _, Lady Sansa?” Her patience at an end, she didn't even attempt to make her question sound less like the demand it was._

_While Sansa kept her head held high, she also took great care to keep her eyes slightly to the side of her sworn sword's face. “The Kingslayer has agreed to take the Black.”_

_Brienne had been prepared to hear news that Jaime was to be executed and for a brief moment felt only relieved. That feeling lasted only as long it took for Sansa's words to truly sink in. And then the relief receded as quickly as it'd come, leaving her cold._

_“A man who joins the Night’s Watch forfeits all titles and lands—”_

_“I know that,” Brienne interrupted. The vows taken by men of the Night’s Watch were almost identical to the ones taken by the White Cloaks. Give up your identity to serve an apparent greater cause and pray you were never given cause to regret it._

_“—and the Kingslayer cannot lead the armies of the west if he forfeits the title that allows him to do so.” Sansa continued without acknowledging the interruption. “The Houses sworn to Casterly Rock have refused to fight under any other's command, the stubborn fools. I imagine they're hoping that when all is said and done our dead will outnumber theirs and they'll be able to break their oaths without much of a fight.” Sansa looked Brienne in the eyes then, unapologetic but a little less cold than she'd been earlier. “That won't happen, Brienne,” she warned, “The Kingslayer has been given a temporary reprieve but once the Others have been defeated, if he even survives, he will belong to the Night’s Watch.”_

_“Isn’t it enough that he's chosen to fight in this war?” Brienne asked quietly. “That he will fight and possibly die for the same people who would sooner see him dead?”_

_“Not for the North. Not for the queen. And not for my family,” the Lady of Winterfell stated. “You know my feelings on the Lannisters.”_

_“I do. And you know my own.” Brienne had never explicitly stated those feelings to Sansa, had barely admitted them to herself. But Lady Catelyn's daughter was no fool, and had heard exactly what Brienne had left unsaid when she would speak of Jaime._

_“I think I do. Which is why, were you to visit Jaime Lannister at his encampment on the morrow, I would not object.” Sansa almost smiled. “On the contrary; I told him to expect you.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ends rather suddenly, without the wedding I promised. That is because this was getting so very unbelievably long that the chapter count has been changed to 3. Oops. Jaime and Brienne will be picking up where they left of but I haven't decided on what to write for the Tarth crew. If anyone has a preference between it picking up where this left off, the day after the wedding, or a few days after when the guests have left and things are beginning to settle, let me know.

Evenfall Hall is not a large castle, but the Great Hall has just enough room to host all the wedding guests. And with its white marble floors and stained-glass windows lit up by the setting sun; the picture is pretty enough to forgive a lack of elbow room. 

The ceremony had been charming and the bride and groom clearly in love, giving the occasion even more of a joyful atmosphere. Vows were made, cloaks were exchanged, the guests had cooed over the couple's first kiss as husband and wife. Nobody had been ridiculed, or poisoned, or stabbed, or mutilated. With the exception of the two families at the centre of the festivities, nothing about this day would stand out in anyone's mind as being particularly memorable. 

On a balcony overlooking the sea, Brienne takes a moment away from the loud celebration happening in the hall. As she gazes down at the crashing waves, she reflects on the differences between this wedding and her own. It had taken place in a kingdom that neither she nor Jaime called home. She had not one familiar face to witness her say her vows. The marriage had been celebrated by none save the couple themselves. And it had been the happiest day of her life. 

Lost in memory, she fails to hear the approaching footsteps. 

“There you are, I was… oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude.” 

Brienne furiously scrubs at her wet cheeks. “It's quite alright, there's more than enough room for both of us.” 

Taking it for the invitation it is, Melessa approaches the railing. “I suppose all mothers cry at their child's wedding,” she says to her new goodmother. 

“I've cried at every wedding I've been to,” Brienne admits. “But there's something altogether different when it's either your own or that of a child.” 

Melessa nods, having shed a few tears of her own this day. “My mother has left the celebrations three times, only to return with suspiciously red eyes. And my father has been nearly inconsolable since the betrothal was announced.” 

“He adores you,” Brienne says, voice slightly croaky. “He'll miss having you under his own roof.” 

“And I love him for that,” Melessa replies, smiling widely. “He really is the best of men, and I couldn't ask for a kinder, more patient father.” Brienne sniffs loudly and Melessa looks stricken. “Oh no, I am so sorry, I wasn't thinking-" 

“It's fine. I'm fine,” Brienne assures her. Melessa hooks her arm through Brienne's and gives her a gentle squeeze. She doesn't say anything and again the lady knight gives a silent thanks to the gods that her son fell in love with a woman who fits him so well. 

Lady Melessa Lannister of Tarth–formerly a Tarly of Horn Hill–is a young woman of twenty-one years; plump, with a pleasant face and gentle manners. She is practical without being cold and playful without being frivolous. She has inherited her father's insatiable curiosity and the only thing she loves more than acquiring knowledge is sharing said knowledge. She makes a beautiful bride, and Galladon certainly seems to agree, judging by the way his eyes have barely left her since she entered the sept on her father's arm. A quick glance back into the hall tells Brienne that the only reason her son isn't presently at his bride’s side is because he has been suitably distracted by the Tarly brothers; Sam, Jon and little Aemon. 

“I actually came out to tell you that my father is about to give his speech,” Melessa says, though she does not look to be in any hurry to go back inside herself. 

“Just to tell me that?” Brienne prompts the younger woman. 

Melessa sighs. “Well, and for the fresh air and room to breathe. I don't think I've met half the people in there before today, and all their faces are blending together.” 

Her gaze is looking a little unfocused, so Brienne just tells her that her father won't mind waiting a little longer to give his speech and together they watch the sun disappear beyond the horizon. 

******

_The day after the trial, Brienne left Winterfell at first light and rode to the Lannister encampment a few hours away. Evidently Jaime had warned the sentries to be on the lookout for her, as she was escorted to a large red tent at the centre of the camp without so much as a questioning glance. The guards left her alone once more and after several fortifying breaths, Brienne entered the tent._

_It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lantern light but when they did, she saw a table to her left, and sat at it was Jaime. He did not look up at her arrival, focused on the sword in his hands. The light caught the rubies on the hilt and the silver shine of the blade. Brienne felt panic briefly claw at her throat before her hand grasped reassuringly on the hilt of Oathkeeper_ _where it rested at her side. That sword had to be the ill-named Widow’s Wail._ _That was good; Valyrian steel was desperately needed for the war._

_Brienne cleared her throat and Jaime finally looked up. He sprang to his feet, dropping the sword as he did. Brienne winched at the dull thud it made as it hit the ground._

_“Lady Brienne.”_

_“Ser Jaime.”_

_An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Her fingers twitched with the need to reach out and touch him, just once, just to prove he was really there. She fought back the urge, uncertain of her reception. Expected did not necessarily mean welcome._

_Jaime stared at her in a way that made her feel...not judged, but certainly scrutinised. Her face burned but she could not bring herself to look away from him. He was as handsome as ever; his brow maybe a little more lined, his expression definitely more tired. It wasn't easy to tell in this light but she thought she saw some white hairs amongst the gold. None of that detracted from his beauty in the slightest._

_Unable to bear the silence a moment longer, Brienne spoke up at the same time as Jaime._

_“I’m sorry—”_

_“We should get married.”_

_“—I’m sorry? What?”_

_“We should get married.”_

_She hadn't misheard him; he really_ had _gone mad. “Why?”_

_“Why? My lady, nothing has changed—”_

_“Everything has changed,” she protested. They were about to go to war with the dead, and dragons had returned, and Jaime would either die on the battlefield or in exile at the Wall. The world had become something completely strange and unrecognisable. Pretending otherwise would not help anyone._

_“Not everything,” Jaime said softly. “I wanted to marry you a year ago and I want to marry you now.”_

_Brienne almost fled the tent then and there. “I don’t–that is–you can’t,” she stammered, unsure of what she was trying to say._

_Jaime scowled at her; his previous warmth gone. “Oh, would you stop lurking by the only means of egress,” he snapped. “We need to talk, and I don't trust you not to flee before I've had my say.”_

_In high dudgeon she marched further into the tent but made sure to place herself in the corner, as far away from him as was possible to get in the confined space._

_“Stubborn wench. Now, you were telling me that you know my own heart better than I do?”_

_“That is not what I sa—”_

_“It's what you implied.” Jaime chided her. He ignored her pointed glare and continued, “The last time we had the pleasure of being together, I kissed you, as you will no doubt remember.” Brienne couldn’t forget that kiss if she tried, but what she had forgotten was how infuriating she found the smirking Lannister in front of her. “I told you then I would find a way for us and you promised you would wait. What is it exactly you thought you'd be waiting for?”_

_When Jaime had said those things, he'd sounded so desperate that she had agreed to his plea without any thought. It hadn't been until much later that she'd begun to question everything. If their journey together had been a song, sung by one of the singers that used to frequent Evenfall Hall, she would be in no doubt as to the intentions of the brave and handsome knight. The warrior maid of that song would be beautiful and unblemished and poised and lethal. She would be like Nymeria of the Rhoyne or Visenya Targaryen–feared and desired in equal measure. But her life was no song and she was just a foolish and ugly maid who had thought she could be a knight. She did not inspire fear, so much as disgust. And as for desire...the truth was in the mirror. Love was not for the likes of her._

_Still, an ember of hope flared to life within her, and the part of her that was still an innocent girl with a head full of songs wanted very much to bask in its warmth. However, it was the woman, the one who had fought and killed and looked evil in the eye, who answered._

_“I promised to not marry Ser Hyle without giving the matter all due consideration. That is all. As to what you meant by it, I could not say.” Brienne heard Jaime give a barely audible sigh and she bristled. “After all,” she said, “I would never presume to know your own heart better than you do.”_

_Jaime’s eyes turned cold and he smirked in a way that reminded her uncomfortably of the earliest days of their acquaintance, back when she had thought of him as cruelty and dishonour incarnate._

_“That is good to know.” He strode towards her but only partially closed the distance between them before he stopped and loudly sighed again. “I apologise, my lady. I've made quite the mess of things. Again.”_

_Brienne’s irritation ebbed in the face of Jaime’s regret and her own guilt. She'd come to provide Jaime with what comfort she could and for her own peace of mind and instead they had divulged into sniping at each other within three minutes. All over something that most other women wouldn't question or hesitate to accept._

_“The fault is mine, ser,” she apologised. “I let myself forget I trust you not to hurt me.”_

_Jaime walked toward her and held out his hand. Brienne slowly extended her own and placed it in his. She tried not to worry about how her mannish hand nearly engulfed his, and instead focused on the feel of his calloused skin against hers. The look in his eyes as he raised her hand to his lips was not one she recognised._

_“You don't need to be sorry for your well-earned suspicions. I know how cruelly you’ve been treated in the past, by myself and others.”_

_Her head spun and her mouth was as dry as the desert sands, so it took her a few painful swallows before she could speak. "Jaime.” His hand tightened around hers and she heard his breath catch in his throat. “I meant what I said before. I would never presume. But I think–I_ hope– _I do, in fact, know your heart. But I cannot completely believe it until I hear you say it.”_

_Jaime pressed another quick kiss to her hand before he lowered it, and placed it over his heart. It was difficult to notice before the layers of cloth and fur he wore but beneath her palm she felt a frantic fluttering that matched her own._

_“I love you. I am in love with you,” he told her. “I have been for quite some time. I fully expect to die fighting these Others and if by some miracle I don't, it's a lifetime of servitude at the Wall for me. It is selfish of me to ask you to shackle yourself to a dead man walking but I am a selfish man. And however long I have left in this life I would like to spend as yours. Before you answer, know that I am not trying to guilt you into saying yes, or, gods forbid, make you pity me enough to agree to this. If you say yes, I want it to be because it's what you want. The last thing I want is to buy my happiness with your misery.”_

_Men had wanted things from her before. Her claim to Tarth, what little wealth could be gained from it, a title for those who had none of their own. They wanted her to give up the sword and put her back in her proper place as a highborn lady–even as they let her know she failed in that aspect as well. They wanted her humiliation, her pain, her submission. They wanted sapphires and lies. They wanted her to change her face and her body and her manner, and they hated her when she couldn’t. They wanted her dead._

_None had wanted her happiness. Even her father, who loved her, would have accepted any offer for her hand if it ensured the Tarth line would not die out with his only living daughter. And then there was Jaime. A lord who had no need for her inheritance or title. A knight who, instead of demanding she stop playing at being what she could never truly be, had given her Oathkeeper and trusted her with his honour. A man who had saved her life, more than once._

_True, he had insulted her often enough, had also had tried to kill her, yet it had not been out of malice. She had been an obstacle to his return home, free from his obligation to Lady Catelyn. Strange to think she could ever forgive someone who tried to kill her, yet she had. She’d forgiven him and then she’d gone and fallen in love with him._

_And he with her._


	3. Chapter 3

From his position at the high table, Samwell Tarly calls for silence, and when his soft voice barely makes it to the ears of the person closest to him, she takes it upon herself to whistle sharply. The room gradually quiets down and the guests turn to him. 

“Thank you, my love,” Sam says to Gilly, who nods demurely and smiles mischievously. 

To his right sit his only daughter and her new husband, and to the other side of the happy couple are Brienne and Pia. When Brienne had told Pia that she wanted her to sit with the family, she had made a half-hearted attempt at a refusal. Then Brienne had pointed out that the grooms' side of the table would be rather sparse without her and she'd agreed. Not that Pia had ever been serious about saying no, the former washer-woman has never believed in false modesty and she is well aware of her worth and of the love her family has for her. 

Sam gets to his feet, and clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming.” Cheers erupt from the guests, small in number but loud in voice. Sam turns to his daughter who looks up at him with a wide smile and eyes already brimming with tears. Sam has to clear his throat a few more times before he can continue. “My daughter, my Melly, has bought her mother and I more happiness than I can possibly express in a lifetime, let alone one short speech. She is clever, capable and dedicated. She is sweet and generous and she brings people joy even during the worst of times. And while I am... heartbroken to be losing her, I am comforted by knowing that she will be bringing that joy to a man worthy of her.” Melessa has her face buried in her husband's shoulder and Galladon’s breathing is shaky. “I have known Galladon quite literally all his life. I know his mother to be kind and brave and loyal. I know his father to be a good man.” If any of the guests have an opinion to the contrary, they wisely keep it to themselves. “And I know Galladon to be the best of both of them. So, I choose not to think of myself as losing a daughter but as gaining a son.” 

The room toasts the newly-weds and cheer when Galladon gives Mel a chaste kiss. Pia leans past Brienne to whisper to the man she thinks of as her nephew. “I have a speech too. Well, it's more advice for tonight. And I shouldn't say it in front of your lovely bride's father and brothers.” She winks and Galladon laughs and blushes. 

Brienne sips her wine and wonders what her father would have thought of her marriage. She’d never had the chance to tell him. He’d wanted for Brienne to find a husband and have heirs for Tarth, but Lannister was not a name that Selwyn had ever spoken of with respect. _If he had met Jaime, he would have understood._ Or maybe her father would have hated her husband; unable to see past his reputation and his worst deeds. But as she will never know for sure, she lets herself believe it to be true–that she would have had his blessing. 

Galladon and Mel go back to staring into each other’s eyes and Pia sighs wistfully. “Oh, to be young and in love.” 

“Being old and in love is quite good as well,” Brienne says and Pia gives a determined nod. 

“Well then there’s still hope for me yet.” She raises her goblet and waits for her friend to do the same. 

“To being old and in love.” 

“To being old and in love.” 

******

He loves me. He loves me. He lovesme. He loves me and he wants to marry me and all I have to do is say— 

_“You should ask me to marry you,” she told Jaime. Demanded, really._

_He tilted his head slightly and his eyes narrowed, in confusion or suspicion, Brienne wasn’t sure. “I did. It was the first thing I said to you.”_

_“No, you said we should get married,” Brienne pointed out. “Then you told me you want to marry me. And just now you told me you love me, and implied marrying you would be a poor decision on my part. You have yet to actually ask, and you need to do that before I can say yes.”_

_Jaime grinned, wide and joyful and for once Brienne didn’t give in to the urge to repress or cover her own answering smile–crooked teeth and all. He moved his hand to cradle the back of her head and braced his shorten arm on her shoulder, raising himself up to touch his forehead to hers._

_“Are you saying yes?”_

_“Are you asking?”_

_Jaime laughed softly and she thought she could get used to that, being the one who made Jaime happy, having someone in her life who laughed not at her expense, but for the pure joy to be found in her company._

_“Brienne. My stubborn, brave, compassionate, gentle, strong, honourable Brienne of Tarth,” Jaime said, and it was her turn to laugh. “Will you please marry me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_The first time Jaime had kissed her she hadn't been able to reciprocate, too shocked and uncertain. This time she moved first, just a gentle press of her lips against his. Then Jaime leaned into her and deepened the kiss. After that she stopped thinking and just let herself react._

_When her lips began to feel swollen and her lungs started to burn, she broke the kiss and gasped for breath, warm in a way she hadn't experienced since she crossed the Neck. “You're all those things too, you know,” she said, once she had breath enough to speak._

_“What's that?” Jaime looked as dazed as she felt and a sense of pride rose in Brienne at the observation._

_“You're honourable,” she told him. “And brave, stubborn—”_

_What followed next was either her third kiss or several kisses broken up by only the most infinitesimal of pauses. It wasn’t until he nipped at her lip and she squeaked in shock, that Jaime stepped back._

_“Right, enough of that,” he declared roughly. “I have a septon to find.”_

_“I-what? Where are you going to find a septon here?” Brienne questioned._

_“There are all sorts of people who will attach themselves to an army on the march. I’m sure we picked up a septon or two at some point.”_

_“We only need the one.”_

_“Was that a joke?” Jaime appeared delighted at the prospect. Brienne bit back her laughter and shook her head._

_“It’s more a statement of fact. One septon_ will _suffice.”_

_“I love you, never change, I am going to plan our wedding now.” Jaime had lifted the tent flap to leave when she called him back._

_“Wait!”_

_“Don't say you've changed your mind already. I thought it’d take you at least three days before you regret this.” His words were light but Brienne saw a hint of true fear in his eyes._

_“I won't.” she quickly assured him. “I just forgot to tell you; I love you too. That is, I am in love with you. I have been for quite some time.”_

_He surged towards her but pulled himself up just short of arm's length. “No. No more distractions. Septon, then wedding. The rest will follow.” Jaime left the tent faster than she could blink and for nearly an hour Brienne was left alone. She alternated between sitting down at the table and pacing when she got restless. Occasionally she had the notion that she should find someone to send a message to Lady Sansa, or even leave to do so herself, but she never followed through. It would only take up time she didn’t want to waste and what would she say anyway? In this case it would be best to beg forgiveness than ask permission._

_When Jaime returned, he went straight to a chest in a corner of the tent and opened it. Brienne watched over his shoulder as he rummaged through the contents. “Everything is ready. I just needed to get one more thing. Well, two, actually. The bride and this.” When he stood up and turned to face her, she saw he held in his hand a long strip of cloth in a very familiar blue._

_“Is that from my dress?” Brienne asked, slightly indignant. She liked that dress, and wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of it being torn–even if it had been Jaime who had done so._

_“Ah. Well, no, I'm afraid that was left behind in King's Landing.” Brienne hadn’t thought the former Lord Commander capable of embarrassment, but the way he suddenly refused to look her in the eyes made her question that belief. “Before I left the Rock, I went to say my farewells Septa Donyse and I happened to notice she had a bolt of this material in her room. I asked if she would mind cutting a piece off for me. I thought it may bring me luck.”_

A favour. He kept it as a favour. _When Jaime looked back up at her; whatever he saw on her face wiped any trace of nervousness off of his and his usual smug expression returned._

_“You’d best stop looking at me like that, wench. There are people waiting just outside and they’re expecting a wedding to start within the next ten minutes.”_

_Brienne was struck by a sudden realisation. “I don’t have a gown. Or a maiden’s cloak.” Her hair was windswept and she was wearing riding boots and furs and a few pieces of mismatched armour. She looked like the furthest thing from a bride._

_“Is that something you want?” Jaime asked her seriously. “The gown and cloak and sept?”_

_When she was a young girl, before the boy from Nightsong had died, Brienne had dreamt of her wedding. She would conjure up images of a beautiful gown and cloak, a proud father, a sept full of friends and family, and a husband that looked at her with love. A few years later, those dreams had turned to nightmares in which her gown was so heavy she could barely walk and her cloak wrapped around her throat so tightly she could not breathe. Her father looked at her with pity and while the sept was still full of people, they had all jeered and thrown roses at her. Her husband-to-be was nowhere to be seen, fled before the ceremony had started._

_“No. Not anymore.” While there was a small part of her that did want everything that would be a given to any other highborn maid, the more rational side of her mind knew, here and now, all those particulars were out of reach for her. And maybe her fears would have less of a hold on her if the setting and details of her reality shared no common ground with her nightmares._

_She did leave her armour behind, though Oathkeeper remained at her side and Jaime smiled to see it._

_“What need have we for gaudy cloaks marked with a golden lion when I’ve already given you a gaudy sword marked with a golden lion?”_

_“Oathkeeper is not gaudy,” she protested._

_Jaime shrugged and offered her his arm. “It is a bit obvious.”_

_Brienne took his arm and let him lead her out of the tent. “Well you’re a lot obvious.”_

_They bickered all the way to the small clearing on the edge of the camp; where the septon and witnesses waited. And when the septon bound their hands with a ribbon of blue fabric, and declared them “one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever” Brienne didn’t mourn the things the ceremony lacked. She was loved and in love and that was more than enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rereading this, I think I may have been subconsciously influenced by the final episode of Anne with an E. Just a little. 
> 
> Anyway, a quick note on this series. This was never intended as a complete post-series examination, it was only ever meant to focus on Brienne, Jaime and Galladon, and specifically what happened to Jaime. So any character that I haven't mentioned so far-with at least one exception-probably won't get a 'where are they now' wrap up. Honestly, I haven't given much thought to things like; how did the long night end or who is ruling the kingdoms or what was the deal with "Aegon." That said I do have head canons for the fates of some characters, no idea about others and multiple ideas about a few. So if you want to visit me on tumblr @momentsofclarityao3 and ask me anything, feel free.


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